


Mora

by The_Torturer_Writes



Category: This Is Where I Leave You (2014)
Genre: Blasphemy, Caning, F/M, Phillip is a bad boy, Religion, pot smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26621539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Torturer_Writes/pseuds/The_Torturer_Writes
Summary: From this ask: penandcrow asked:*Happy happy Torturer Tuesday dance!* I really gotta make a list of things I want to submit, but today is not that day. 😂 How about caning (or other such lovely impact/welting play with a boy of your choice?? ❤
Relationships: Phillip Altman/Reader, Phillip Altman/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Torturer Tuesdays





	Mora

**Author's Note:**

> SOME CANING YOU SAY? Look, I don’t want to admit that I have a soft spot for putting cunty little assholes in their place, but I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t. In light of that, please enjoy some Phillip Altman.
> 
> C/N: Depending on what you consider blasphemy, tread cautiously here. There’s synagogue filth and some Hebrew. This is your warning; so, don’t come for me. (Or do. You know, dealer’s choice.)

“Phillip Altman,” you barged in through the door, having spent a few minutes watching him through the long, narrow window, “What do you think you are doing?”

The extremely tall, extremely attractive man-child sprawled out across one of the desks jumped, yelped, and fell to the floor with a grunt. Mashing your lips together to keep from laughing, you stood with both hands on your hips, one brow cocked over your best teacher’s face.

“Shit!” 

He popped up to his feet and brushed glitter and grime off of his black slacks, leaving remnants of both. Shoving the roach he just had in his mouth into his pocket, he cursed again and shook out his hand. You could scarcely contain the eye roll. The idiot burned his fingers.

“Nothing. I am doing nothing.”

When those squinting, high eyes fixed on you, his beautiful face changed from shocked and trying to cover his ass to the sort of appreciation a cat pays a canary. He pointed at you, giving you that cheshire grin and tilting his head to one side as though he could better assess you from an angle.

“You must be the new Hebrew teacher.”

Ignoring him, you pulled the door closed with a quiet click. At the supply closet next to your desk, you plucked out your cue and turned to him. Smaller than a pool cue but long enough to make a point, you gestured to the desk he was just lounging on.

“Over the desk, Mr. Altman.”

Phillip stared at you for a good twenty seconds, mouth agape. Caught somewhere between excitement and apprehension, he slowly slid the little chairs away from the desk and leaned forward, gripping the edge with his large hands.

You tutted, loud enough to draw his darkening gaze.

“Of all people, Mr. Altman, you definitely know better than that.”

His burgeoning arousal was already evident, and you worked hard to not let your eyes stray to the slight tent in his pants. Eyebrows raised, interest piqued, he watched you intently while he worked the buckle of his belt, slid his fingers under both tight waistbands, and slid pants and boxer briefs down to his thighs. 

You stepped back, tapping the stick on the floor, impatiently waiting for him to comply. You did, however, use his delay to map out the curve of his hip, the way his hair darkened down his sculpted legs. With his bare ass lewdly on display, Phillip splayed both hands across the desk once more, carefully keeping his erection from the unforgiving rim.

“You know me?”

His voice was thick with what you assumed to be cottonmouth from the weed but half hoped was desire. A chuckle lodged in your throat because you didn’t need him to recognize you to take advantage. Apparently, he didn’t need to recognize you, either, in order to drop his trousers.

Truth was, everybody knew Phillip and that he was an absolute tramp.

You elected to ignore his question, preferring instead to ask your own.

“Should you be in here during services, Mr. Altman?”

He shrugged and glanced back over his shoulder, a cheeky half-grin tugged at his delicious mouth. You almost wanted to slap the smugness off his face.

“I mean..there isn’t a ‘stay out’ sign.”

Heaving a long, drawn out, very audible sigh, you swung the cue and cracked him right on the ass. It wasn’t a hard strike -- just enough to make a point, just enough to wake up the senses. He gasped, jarred forward onto the balls of his dress shoes. Two thin red lines blossomed to decorate his smooth skin, and it was too insanely pretty to leave out there all by its lonesome.

“The locked door should have been a clue, wouldn’t you agree?”

Another crack of the cane landed flat and true - catching both cheeks in its path. You ignored the heat rising into your neck and pooling between your thighs. You did not, however, ignore the not-subtle-at-all way Phillip’s hand went to his cock. He sucked in a hot breath, clenched his teeth, and curled his fingers into the desktop.

“Y-yes, Mora.”

A hint of a smile danced across your lips. Mora. Teacher.

“I’m glad to learn you haven’t forgotten all of your lessons, talmid.” 

You purred and stepped forward, rubbing at the newest red line, a reward for good behavior that lit your detainee up into a visible shudder. You couldn’t remember a time when this salacious asshole ever looked better. He had a habit of chewing up girls and spitting them out, and it was divine to see him half dressed, fully hard, and damn near squirming in just a few short moments.

“Did you break into my classroom to misbehave, Mr. Altman? To smoke pot _during services_ like a heathen?”

You didn’t wait for the answer; you swung the wooden rod again and relished the sound of it connecting with his backside. The surprised sound he made was like candy. His breath came out in short bursts as he rode that sting. You knew he felt that strike radiate through his abdomen and down through his legs.

“I can’t hear you.” Your sing-song tone accompanied another whack; and again, you reveled in the debauched noises he made.

“Fuck!” His entire body jerked forward with the force of that hit, and his hand very clearly palmed what lay between those sexy thighs, working eagerly up and down what seemed to be an impressive length. “Yes, Mora. I broke into your classroom to misbehave.”

Your cue connected with his body again, and his broad shoulders hunched over. A heavy silence fell as you marked up his ass, first red and then just a hint of purple, while he stroked his cock. You gave him this leeway because he was just so pretty, and it was just so tantalizing to watch him jerk off.

Until you didn’t.

“Both hands where I can see them.” You swung again, living for the dirty huff that popped from his mouth. “Do you think I can’t see you? Always trying to get away with something.”

He whimpered - actually whimpered out loud - and you thought you might cum right then. You definitely would be replaying that sound again and again.

“Mora, fuck. I’m so hard. It hurts. I’ll…” 

He struggled to say it, but it was right on the tip of his tongue. You circled him slowly, capturing his stare and holding it, planting your weapon tip on the ground and leaning into it. Schooling your features into a flat affect, you canted your head to one side and waited, drawing out the moment where his ragged breathing was the only sound in the room.

“I’ll be good.”

A delicious crackle went up your spine. You swallowed the satisfied hum and lay your makeshift cane upon the desk to which he clung. You lifted his shirt to look down at his sticky, swollen dick and clucked gently. Fire burned in his eyes, and his jaw ticked with his swallow. He was trying very hard to maintain his composure, to play this game with you.

“I doubt that very much, Mr. Altman.” You leaned in and nuzzled the side of his face. “If you make a mess on my desk, it’ll be worse next time.” He groaned and turned his nose into your hair for a brief second before you pulled away. “I imagine I will be seeing you next week, hm? For another lesson in manners?”

Before you lost yourself to fucking him right there on the desk, you turned and swept out of the room. Hiding behind the corner, you watched him stand there for a ridiculously long time with his pants around his ankles and his knuckles turning white from how hard he gripped the table.

It seemed he was arguing with himself over whether or not to make that mess, deciding which lesson he wanted more.


End file.
